


Liar, Liar

by treesharadia



Category: True Blood
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:51:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treesharadia/pseuds/treesharadia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sir? Sir can you hear me? I need to move you sir!" She stumbled over the words as much as her fingers stumbled over her tools of trade. She can do this. She will save him. Story Disclaimer: Not mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liar, Liar

1.

She found him lying on the blood-soaked ground late one evening - where the sky was overcast and the sun was practically nonexistent - twitching violently, body suffering from spasms and eyes so delirious it was as if they were a reflection of the hysteria flashing across one’s mind when one was about to die.

He looked like death too. Face ashen and stomach sporting a gaping wound like the gap of a large trout’s, taking in water through its voluminous cavity. Only it was blood that was constantly surging out from the broken skin.

“Sir? Sir can you hear me? I need to move you sir!” She stumbled over the words as much as her fingers stumbled over her tools of trade. She can do this. She will save him. He will live to fight the axis powers another day. Or she would die trying.

“Blood.”

He was close to madness, Pam realized as the dying man clasped her hand in his and muttered again, “Blood. I need it.”

“Sir? I need to sew you up. You’ll be fine.” She was lying, no way could she save him as she looked at the deep gashing wound. She also had no painkillers. Knocking him out would only deprive him of his last few moments on earth.

“Sir?” She said as he went silent and motionless. She took her hand away from his, and started to keep her needle in her bag. She was the last of the ‘scavengers’, the others having had left with the rest of the squadron. She saved no one today, despite her extra efforts.

It was with these bleak and gloomy thoughts in her mind that she was suddenly brought out from her silent reverie. “Blood. I need it” She heard again as she felt herself being pushed to the ground. _It cannot be! He’s…_

“Preferably yours.” The man says, staring strongly at her from her fallen position.

_He’s dead!_

However the dead man started moving, closing in on her. It was in that instant that Pam Ravencroft knew monsters weren’t just greedy pillaging soldiers and power-hungry politicians. Monsters existed beyond the realms of what was humanly possible.

*

2.

She was not supposed to survive. In fact, he wanted to leave her for dead if it were not for the bugle call that signaled the end of the day coming from a near distance. Taking into account the fact that he could be spotted from their vantage point, he resisted the urge to drain her. It would be hard to explain the absence of a doctor than that of a fallen solider. Instead he decided to take her with him to camp, wherein a man dressed in a soldiers’ regalia carrying an injured was not at all out of the ordinary.

His little prank on the Nazis and the British was not going well at all. Damon, the little bastard of a childe had left him on the last evening ship that day and having been in the midst of play acting a British casualty of war on the battlefield whence evening came forth forced him to leave his valuables with the little bastard for safekeeping whilst he acted dead or near death...he had, after all, the pallor for it. And now, Damon He must have been miles away from camp, on a ship with his golden nuggets from the orient.

That little bastard.

Left with nothing but the route to camp and his stolen garb, he decided that maybe taking the doctor was resourceful. After all she must have means to a passage out of this hell hole.

 _Where should she be buried_?

 

3.

The distant sound of a foghorn being blown surprised Pam as she sat up straight. Or as straight as her bed could allow.

It was not a bed, she corrected herself. In fact it was a box. Ramming her palm flat against the wooden panel just in front of her face, she deduced that it was a wooden box. A small, confining, oxygen-lacking box.

She fainted.


End file.
